A Mother's Wishes
by CountessButternut
Summary: Merope, Eileen, and Lily all have hopes for their sons. Rated for some language.


This was the end.

Witch? She was no witch. How could she have been so foolish, no naïve? She was nothing—_nothing_—and had nothing. She could admit it fully now, that all that _nothing _was her fault and hers alone.

How could she have been so _stupid? _How could she have thrown it all away?

Maybe her father had some sense after all.

Tom Riddle had never loved her. How could he? She was a filthy wench, and a hideous one at that. She had not a penny to her name, not a single talent or redeemable virtue.

And now—_now_—

Her spidery hands fell on her womb, feeling the life moving about. A smile ghosted on her lips, but her dark eyes brimmed with tears. At least there was _one _thing she was good for…

She knew, somehow, this was her purpose. The days darkened, but this child—_her _child—would be born. She did not know who they would be become, or what they would be like, but there was something light in her heart when she thought of them.

"Be strong," Merope whispered, "be stronger than I ever was."

* * *

She _could _have married the Malfoy heir, but Eileen had been seventeen, and really, _really _pissed off.

In other words, she ran off and married a Muggle-nobody to spite her parents.

The result? She was disinherited and the family wealth went to some far-off cousin. Her Muggle husband later discovered what she was, and hated for it. He would have left her if she hadn't been pregnant, and for that, she would commend him that honor. Sure, Tobias Snape made her life a living hell, but at least he would stick around to fork over some money to his offspring—

Er, the money that wasn't wasted on his spirits, that is.

So, yes, Eileen had fucked up. In retrospect, Mr. Malfoy had actually been somewhat of a gentleman, and at least she would have been able to practice magic in her own house without being called something vile.

The one good thing that had come out of it all was her son.

Now, Eileen wasn't entirely sure just what her son got up to in those days, especially with that Mudblood-girl down the street, but she tried not to be too terribly concerned. It was just a little difficult, however, when she only ever heard snippets of what was going on with Slytherin House and some Dark Lord. Was her son involved? But then there was the Mudblood-girl, and Eileen couldn't help but think he was going to do something stupid—

Like piss of a Dark Lord. Or his whole House, which was, by the way, full of dozens of rich, powerful Purebloods.

She had turned her back on that society once, and look where it had placed her! She scowled, stirring supper on the stove.

Of course, she wasn't sure about the Dark Lord to begin with. She heard some things, and then she heard others. Typically, when one was associated with murder that was _not _such a wonderful thing—

Her son came tearing through the door at that instant. She knew it when Tobias shouted something profane in a mix of his drunken slurs and the door slammed shut in the foyer. A few seconds later, he was hurrying up the stairs, stomping angrily. He was at that age—probably the Mudblood-girl, she thought—

"Severus?" she asked hoarsely, turning from the stove. Her son didn't hear her; he was already to the top of the stairs. She sighed and shook her head, muttering to herself. "Don't throw away what's good in your life for some far-fetched dream."

* * *

There wasn't enough time—he was coming—_what had she been thinking? _A chair and boxes wouldn't hold off a Dark Lord—

Lily held onto her son tighter, tears streaming down her face.

"Harry," she whispered.

He was almost up the stairs. It was all over. All of it…

She looked at her son, his green eyes bright. His little, grubby hands reached for her cheek; he did not understand.

(She hoped he never would.)

"My lovely, beautiful baby boy," she whispered, her lips brushing his forehead. "Mummy loves you so, so much, Harry, and Daddy loves you so, _so _much…"

He was outside the door. Any moment, now—any moment and he would—he would—

"You will _always _be loved…"

And then Lord Voldemort burst through the door.


End file.
